Vicissitude V: Consistency in the Season
The penumbra of a nefarious moon
In the semblance of a harlequin's simper
Waning with the dark to topple
And give way to a braggart sun—
‘Twas a play of aeons and clockworks
In their perpetual and hallow realms
Dragging us, in favor and in sorrow
Of maiming vexations and perplexities:
Of a hidden yearning for abeyance
"Winter—comes the arctic sunder,
Spring—hails the jealous lover,
Summer—fan the flames, a fire to die,
Autumn—invokes the chars to fly"
How do we resign from vicissitude
And raise a fist from the mist
Of baneful soirees and feasts
Where we play the jester
The season mocks in great pleasure?
In this omnipresent attrition
Should we become the season?
Or hold steadfast to our convictions?
Is this bereavement? Is this a shaping?
Breaking and rebuilding, breaking and rebuilding—
Is it the only constant thing?
Shall I stop from building, shall I stop from breaking?
Is this a futile game: a feint of vicissitude?
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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